


a saviour came your way

by beardsley



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-06
Updated: 2013-05-06
Packaged: 2017-12-10 14:19:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/787011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beardsley/pseuds/beardsley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gabe, when they were on leave in London, saw Bucky's eyes trail after Steve as he walked out of the bar and said, 'Makes you wonder what you'd like more, to be him or to fuck him, right?'</p><p>Bucky isn't torn on that front at all. Fuck, all the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a saviour came your way

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [к тебе пришел спаситель](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1575419) by [agewa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/agewa/pseuds/agewa)



> Written for the 'virgin!fic / secretly a virgin' square on my Trope Bingo minicard. (Steve is not the virgin.) Thanks to haipollai for her help. This is definitely not fluff.
> 
> Title from Portishead.
> 
>  **Warnings** : ptsd, past torture, internalised homophobia.

It's not the shield, or at least it's not _just_ the shield. It's everything that goes with it, it's everything Bucky can't have: six feet something of toned muscle and wide shoulders and a jawline that could cut through fucking glass. Gabe, when they were on leave in London, saw Bucky's eyes trail after Steve as he walked out of the bar and said, 'Makes you wonder what you'd like more, to be him or to fuck him, right?'

Bucky isn't torn on that front at all. Fuck, all the way. He doesn't even have to look at the picture to get off, where Steve's grin could convince him to buy anything, not just war bonds, and could long before Bucky knew it was Steve at all — though he should have. He should have fucking known, no one could ever talk him into things as easily as Steve. Pick a fight, pick up the wrong gal; if Steve was there, so was Bucky.

Now he's there too, except nothing else is the same, and Steve doesn't need him. Not when he's got —

Bucky growls, a low hoarse sound ripped from the back of his throat, and his hand on his cock stutters. He breathes through his nose, closes his eyes, and tries not to think. The shower wall is cold and slippery on his back, and his thighs are already shaking with the effort of keeping him upright — he's not that good yet, not yet back to full working order, not cleared for duty by the armies of doctors that looked him over after —

He growls again and wipes his hand on his thigh. He can't even jack off in peace. It used to be easy: he'd just think about Captain America's wide rakish smile and he'd be ready to go. Now, though, Captain America is Steve and Steve is here and nothing is the same, and Bucky's country needs him about as much as Steve does, which is not fucking much.

The water is getting lukewarm, and he reaches out to turn it off, and that's when he sees Steve in the doorway.

'Shit,' Bucky breathes, 'fuck, I'm —'

Steve shakes his head, jerky and stiff. 'No, I —'

Bucky fumbles to cover himself — that's never been an issue between them but it is now, when Steve is six feet something and Bucky, oh, Bucky still has angry red scars and blue-black bruises all over his body. He's never shown them to Steve, not an inch above the elbow, and now he stands naked and helpless and the least of his worries is that he's still half-hard. He tries to angle his back, where it's ugliest, away from Steve so he won't see.

'How long've you been there?' he asks, trying to sound less terrified than he feels.

Steve looks down. From across the bathroom Bucky can't tell if he's blushing, but he'd like to think so. 'Long enough to hear you say my name, if that's what you're wondering.'

'Christ.' Bucky runs his hands through his wet hair, and tries to laugh. It doesn't come out pretty, but hey, he should get points for effort. He's good at fronting; it's all he does. 'Hope at least you enjoyed the show.'

Steve doesn't rise to the bait. What he does is take a step closer. He reaches back to close the door after himself and the bathroom seems to shrink around them, suffocating in its claustrophobia. Bucky swallows. He doesn't know what he should be readying himself for, he has no goddamn clue. A punch to the face he'll take standing up; he's used to pain. But Steve doesn't look angry, or like he even wants to throw punches — and god, how ass-backwards is that? He could take Bucky, easy. With his six feet of muscle and superhuman strength, he could kill Bucky.

The thought sends a shiver down Bucky's spine.

Steve takes another step in his direction. He's barefoot, Bucky notices, his fatigues getting wet on the damp bathroom tiles. He sets his jaw and lifts his eyes to Bucky. 'You said my name.'

Front, Bucky thinks. Front like a motherfucker and get away with what feels worse than murder with the way Steve is looking at him, eyes a little wide and dark and unreadable.

'Yeah,' Bucky starts. His breath hitches when Steve takes the distance between them in two long strides and suddenly is there, in Bucky's face. He doesn't seem to care that his trouser legs are wet up to the ankles, and he's big and wide as he crowds Bucky against the wall. He's _big_. Bucky forces himself to choke back the panic rising in his throat; choke it back and keep talking, because as long as he's talking maybe Steve's manners will kick in and he won't kick Bucky's _face_ in. 'Yeah, sorry about that, it's the — shield, and the —'

'Is it?' Steve wants to know. He wants to know — jesus, he wants to know if Bucky was jacking off to Captain America or Steve, and of course there is a difference, of course. 'Is it, Bucky?'

Bucky isn't particularly brave. He never has been. Probably would've avoided enlisting if it wasn't for Steve's badgering. He's not brave or strong or anything like that, he's a scared kid in over his head and he's on borrowed time.

He forces himself to look at Steve, and manages to lift the corner of his mouth in something that maybe could be called a smirk. 'If I say it's not just the shield, will you ever talk to me again?'

Steve opens his mouth to reply; Bucky is sure the answer will be _yes_ , even if it turns out to be a lie later, because Steve is a good man. He's the best man. He'll take his queer best friend lusting after him and see the best in him still. It's what he does. It's what he's always done, and Bucky wonders a little deliriously what Steve thinks of him — if he thinks Bucky's fucked guys back home, or in the trenches, if Bucky's one of _those_ people. He's not, he isn't, though sometimes he wishes that was not the case.

The silence between them stretches into something uncomfortable. Bucky wants Steve to just pull the goddamn trigger, put him out of his misery so they can get on with their lives and —

— and instead of saying anything Steve grabs him by the arms and pushes him up against the wall so Bucky has to stand on his tiptoes and he's not ready for Steve's mouth on his, for Steve's thigh between his, for Steve's fingers digging into the bruises on his biceps. He moans in pain, then something else entirely, when Steve licks into his mouth with an angry determination he should save for the front and back alleys, for a real fight — because Bucky isn't fighting him. He couldn't if he tried, or wanted to.

Steve's fatigues chafe against the insides of Bucky's thighs and he can barely keep himself standing upright. None of it matters when Steve kisses him like he'll never kiss anyone ever again: hard and too rough, but Bucky is a quick study and gives back as good as he gets and swallows Steve's soft noises before they can make it out of his throat.

Bucky never kissed like that, like it isn't about kissing but about trying to get under each other's skin. He never went past second base, he's not one of _those_ people, it never seemed worth it; but Steve must not think so. With an impatient sound he grabs Bucky's thighs and lifts him up, and smiles against Bucky's mouth when Bucky wraps his legs around his hips.

It's going too fast, way too fast, and they really should talk — but then Bucky is already naked and Steve looks ready to take full advantage of that. Bucky can feel him hard in his trousers. It makes him break out in cold sweat when he can't help but remember Steve bending steel railings out of shape. Bucky might as well be glass in his hands.

He doesn't feel like glass, not with Steve's mouth and hands hot on him like a branding iron. He shivers when Steve reaches down to wrap his fingers around his cock, memories of the factory and everything that came there forgotten. In his head Steve does this because he wants to, not because he thinks Bucky is broken and fucked up beyond all repair. In his head this is good. No one has ever touched him like this, but Bucky is real fucking glad this is Steve and not a stranger in a sleazy bar.

Steve trails harsh kisses down his neck and it makes Bucky moan, out loud now that his mouth isn't occupied. The sound is low and hoarse and echoes in the otherwise near empty bathroom. Bucky tips his head back, eyes shut tight, hips coming off the wall to meet the tight circle of Steve's fingers. He's not sure what he should be doing, but Steve doesn't ask him for anything and doesn't protest when Bucky grips his shoulders to get some leverage, to ground himself. His hand on Bucky's cock moves with practiced ease, slick and hot and — and he's done this before, Bucky knows. He had to.

It's not fair that Steve got to practice and now can just take Bucky to little pieces with nothing more than his hand and his mouth. He reaches around; at first Bucky thinks it's to support him better, but then he feels Steve's fingers on his ass and lower and he has to turn away, press his face into the cold shower wall to stop himself from yelling when Steve pushes a finger inside him, up to the first knuckle. It hurts — more than any of the bruises but less than the factory, so he can make it good, it can be good — and Bucky's hips jerk when he comes, sudden and painful and all the better for it.

Steve strokes him through it, his mouth pressed to Bucky's collar bone, murmuring something Bucky can't make out but thinks dizzily might be apologies. He takes in deep shuddering breaths and forces himself to open his eyes.

The red gashes on his arms stand out against the white of Steve's t-shirt, against his pale skin. Bucky can't stop staring. He untangles his legs from Steve's waist, and Steve puts him back down — not gentle or careful, though his eyes are wide with something that might be shock. If he wasn't expecting this, what the fuck is Bucky even supposed to say?

'I,' Steve starts, then shuts his mouth when his voice comes out scratchy. His shoulders are tense, but relax again when he leans in to press his mouth to Bucky's and Bucky doesn't stop him. After a moment, he starts to kiss back. It's soft. It's aching. 'So not just the shield and the tights and everything,' Steve says against his mouth.

Bucky wraps his arms around his neck; this way he doesn't have to see the scars or the bruises. Pressed against Steve, he doesn't have to see himself. 'No,' he says, hating the sound of his own voice (scared kid in over his head). 'No. Just you.'

Steve breathes out a laugh. 'Good, I'm — good.' This close together, Bucky can feel how hard Steve is even through his trousers.

He takes in a deep breath, doesn't ask himself if he can do this, and sinks to his knees.


End file.
